Friends With(out) Benefits
by abthinse
Summary: Sherlock and Molly have been 'in a relationship' for six weeks until Molly gets herself a boyfriend. When Molly makes a startling discovery, her relationships face ruin...
1. Maybe We Should Stop

_Just a bit of fun. Won't happen again._

* * *

><p>"Oh," Molly sighed in boredom, flipping through the magazine and shaking her head, "Brad Pitt finally married Angelina Jolie."<p>

There was an irritated grumble from under her bedcovers followed by shifting movements and, soon, a grumpy-looking Sherlock Holmes emerged with his tousled hair and glistening mouth. Molly had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his flustered – mmm, and very naked – appearance. There was no surprise his voice came out husky and strained through his pouting lips.

"Brad Pitt? Hmm, your legs parted considerably as you were reading that article," he arched an eyebrow at the page she had open and Molly blushed, attempting to hide from his view.

"Maybe it was your smart mouth."

She shrugged, ducking behind the article to hide her growing smirk; even though she couldn't see him, Molly could tell the consulting detective, the genius crime-solving detective whose head had just been between her legs, was pouting.

"I'm insulted, Molly Hooper. I was giving you my best-"

Molly actually did snort with laughter this time and buried her face behind the magazine, shaking with her suppressed laughter; Sherlock scowled and tugged the magazine from her grip, ignoring her protests as he threw it over his shoulder – he was leaning dangerously close to her face and eyeing her small lips thoughtfully.

"No, none of that. We agreed," Molly reminded softly, cupping his cheek to gently push him away. He sighed and rolled his eyes, disappearing beneath the covers. Molly raised an eyebrow as his mouth started working her again, "what are you doing?"

She heard him sigh, "I'll explain to you how this works, how this _has _worked for the last…six weeks. I finish a tedious case, you finish a long stressful day at work…we choose a flat and fuck until we're both satisfied," he'd started using his long, musician's fingers as he spoke and Molly wasn't as unaffected as she seemed; her breathing had quickened and she'd thrown her head back, her hands delving under the sheets to twist through his curls.

"I meant…_God, _I meant…you're not very g-good at this…"

There was a moment of silence and Sherlock suddenly stopped whatever glorious things he'd been doing to her, causing Molly to whimper – she wasn't a lie, really. He'd only recently started bringing her off this way and was still learning what pleased her. Not many of Molly's previous lovers had cared – it was a simple in and out session for them before rolling over and falling asleep. When the consulting detective had expressed his wish to try, who was Molly to argue with him?

Sherlock suddenly nibbled at the inside of her thigh, running his hands over her freshly shaven legs – nice one, Molly. He chuckled when a moan escaped her lips, only surfacing when the tugs at his hair became urgent. Molly was looking guilty, flushed yet guilty; she swallowed and played with the thin nightdress she still wore.

"Maybe this is too weird."

"Mmm," Sherlock replied distractedly with his 'I'm only pretending to listen' face on. He smirked and bent to her throat, kissing the tender skin, "or I could stay up here?"

Molly smiled and nodded, slightly relieved she hadn't offended him. His gaze dropped and he caressed the hem of her nightdress; their eyes locked as Sherlock slowly drew the garment over her head, Molly lifting her arms when required – he felt a certain part of his anatomy reacting to her creamy skin and small, perfect breasts. Their friends didn't know of their arrangement, they'd most likely disapprove. _How do you keep feelings out of the way? Don't you feel anything? Are you two in love? _It was the last question they both knew would be the hardest to answer. Admittedly, the first time had been quick and artless, a primal act of stress relief. Now? Sherlock swallowed away the lump in his throat, stroking his hands over Molly's stomach and ribs, lacing his fingers with hers and bringing their arms above her head. He bit his lip hard.

"I have the strongest impulse to kiss you. Every time we do it like this."

"Oh," Molly muttered, sitting up so fast she almost knocked Sherlock off balance; to his surprise and slight amusement, she rolled over and scurried onto her knees, wiggling her hips, "like this, then? You're very, _very _good at this."

"Well…"

He'd been about to protest until he properly looked at her, God…she was beautiful. He could do so _much _for her from this angle, use all the information he'd gathered to his advantage. Grab her hips as he repeatedly slammed into her hard, raking his hands up and down her spine, clutch at her long hair, slide his hands over her skin, palm her breasts, pull her up so her back was pressed against his chest and bite at her neck, all the while using his hands, slipping them lower- Sherlock cleared his throat and smirked devilishly.

"Yeah, why not?"

* * *

><p>"They're shagging."<p>

"What? Don't be stupid."

John gaped at Greg, turning to observe the strange scene, both tilting their heads in unison and occasionally turning to glance at each other – the Inspector had summoned the freelance detectives after a body had been discovered in a car park, apparently a victim of asphyxiation. However, it wasn't the dead body that was interesting the two men standing in front of the police tape. No matter how hard he looked, John couldn't see what Greg seemed to.

Sherlock Holmes was examining the car – honestly, if he leaned anymore, he'd fall in – taking mental notes and muttering to himself. Or was he? Upon closer observation, he appeared to be 'chatting' with Molly Hooper, the woman two years ago he hadn't given the time of day. Greg was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Maybe you're right. This is Sherlock, after all. And Molly's got her Tom."

John groaned at the mere mention of Molly's idiot boyfriend; was he her boyfriend? They'd enjoyed a few dates but Sherlock was less than kind about him - "_I don't care, John. She can shag or not shag who she pleases." _He turned back to the scene and frowned, watching Sherlock and Molly crouch to look at something he couldn't see.

"You left early this morning," Sherlock murmured, making sure to keep his interest on the ground and voice low from prying ears, especially Philip bloody Anderson; the man had developed something of an obsession with the two of them. He heard Molly softly clear her throat.

"I- um, had to meet Tom for breakfast. It was nice, though…a-a nice goodbye."

Sherlock nodded quickly, suddenly jumping to his feet and helping Molly stand, "…yes, of course. The rules only applied until you found yourself a mate."

"Mmm," Molly rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of their situation; she didn't want to stop, God no. It wasn't fair on Tom – she liked him and he liked her. Sighing deeply, she finally met his captivating blue gaze and smiled widely, "…thank you. I've had a lovely time and…learned a bit, too," she blushed at her last sentence, looking down.

Sherlock bit his lip, not wanting to let slip what was on his mind – perfect, just perfect…she'd be using all their experience with Tom, now, making _him _beg for more and _he _the one attempting to pleasure her the way he did. He felt an unwelcome twinge of jealousy but, nevertheless, returned her smile.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it," he kissed her cheek – it was allowed now, they were no longer casual sexual partners. When he straightened, his breath caught and he smirked, "you know where I am."

Before she could reply, he'd began walking back to John and Greg, rapidly explaining everything he'd discovered at the car.

* * *

><p>Tom and Molly, this.<p>

Molly and Tom, that.

_He has a dog. I've met his Mum and Dad._

Ugh, it was sickening. Sherlock, though, didn't really care if he had a nice mind-boggling case to focus on. This was a rare occasion, these days, so instead he was forced to focus on Molly Hooper's blossoming love life. The worst thing was having to watch all the kisses her tiny lips promised bestowed upon Tom.

Why was he thinking about that now? He couldn't think about that _now._ Not now, not this second. How could he? Something far more important, more worrying. Sherlock frantically ruffled his hair, running his hands over his face – he paced desperately outside the female bathroom on the second floor, stopping only to check his watch or run his hands through his tousled hair. He was like a wind-up toy, constantly fidgeting. Should he be in there with her? He rolled his eyes – oh, yes, _that _would help things. She probably hated him. His heart sank at the thought.

"Sherlock?"

Oh, great…this was _all_ he needed. He stopped his pacing, stuffing his twitching hands in his pockets and forcing a grin.

"John," the army doctor eyed the ladies toilet's questioningly and folded his arms; it took Sherlock a relatively long time to answer his friend's confused looks, "yes…Molly's in there. I'm…waiting for some test results."

The moment he'd let the words slip, Sherlock realised he had made a huge mistake – thankfully, John was no consulting detective and just glanced from the bathroom to his pale looking friend. The arms folded again, a frown falling into place.

"What test results?"

* * *

><p><em>Sorry.<em>


	2. I'm The Father, Aren't I?

_A filler chapter - the Sherlolly will begin next chapter when I get round to it_

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><p>Molly stared blankly at the double lines on the white device in her hands; she'd collapsed against the toilet seat when the results had been revealed. She wiped her eyes, hugging her chest as she stared at the floor. Her mind was whirling, repeating three clear facts over and over.<p>

She was pregnant.

She and Tom hadn't slept together yet - they were 'taking it slow'.

Sherlock Holmes was the father of her unborn baby; it made Molly feel sick to think about his reaction to the news. Mr. Unattached. Mr. Cases Are The Only Thing That Matters. He wouldn't want to be a father. Babies were messy, required constant attention and care - Molly was reminded of the detective just thinking about it.

_Oh, how could they have been so stupid? _Why did she agree to go to that…thing, anyway? What on Earth possessed them to drink that much? Had they been celebrating? Sherlock was a good dancer, if memory served, but he couldn't hold his drink very well. Molly was far worse – a few shots was all it took before she'd dragged him to the bathroom by his belt. She groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

John and Mary's wedding reception.

Yes, now she remembered. God, they were idiots; Greg had dared them to drink but Molly could hardly blame him for her predicament. Shaking her head and sniffing furiously, she nodded once having made her decision – she'd lie. It was horrible but not as horrible as what would happen if Sherlock found out the truth. She'd lie until she figured out what to do.

_We need to talk. Mollyx_

_That doesn't sound good but sure. Tom_

* * *

><p>"For-for the case," Sherlock stuttered after quite careful thought, failing to stop his eye from twitching – thankfully, John was terrible at pointing out liars as his wife had pointed out before.<p>

"Oh, well…couldn't you wait in the morgue? The poor woman can't even use the bathroom in peace!"

Sherlock was sweating quite profusely, he felt it but John didn't seem to notice – he'd taken a half-step away from the bathroom, looking back as if expecting the detective to follow him. When he didn't, John gave up and returned to his friend's side…much to Sherlock's annoyance – this was a delicate situation enough and John would probably kill Sherlock for real this time if he discovered the truth.

"I urgently need those test results…" Sherlock muttered, checking his watch again.

John narrowed his eyes, staring suspiciously at his friend – Molly was taking an awful long time which didn't seem to be calming Sherlock. John watched curiously as he paced up and down, fiddling with his hands and breathing quite heavily – if the army didn't know any better, he'd say Sherlock Holmes looked terrified. But why? Before John could question the strange behaviour, the bathroom door opened slowly to reveal a pale, red-eyed Molly Hooper – she promptly froze upon noticing John. She glared at Sherlock who ceased his frantic swallowing and cleared his throat.

"Molly, uh…Mr. Jones' blood analysis. I need to know," his eyes quickly flicked to John before staring intently into Molly, "if the results were _negative _or-or not."

His smile was far too wide and innocent but, luckily, he was standing slightly in front of John. Molly ran a hand through her loose hair, her hands shaking involuntarily – an action that did not go unnoticed by Sherlock.

"Negative," she smiled at him, giving a small shrug – there wasn't relief in her expression. Sherlock hadn't moved, spoken or even blinked. In fact, he looked annoyed. He took a step back, straightening up so he was almost looming over her; his eyebrow arched.

"You're certain?"

"Yes. Looks like your man is off the hook."

Molly chuckled nervously and Sherlock narrowed his eyes, briefly allowing his gaze to wander over her body. They stood staring for several minutes, Molly not daring to blink once, Sherlock scanning and storing in his mind palace and John looking utterly confused. Finally, Sherlock drew out a long sigh.

"Fine."

He turned on his heel and practically stormed to the exit, adjusting his coat collar as he went. John smiled awkwardly at the pathologist before muttering an apology and following after his apparently grumpy friend. Molly released the breath she'd been holding, feeling disgusted with herself – she'd rather lie to him that there was no baby instead of attempting the 'Tom's the father' scenario. He would have guessed she was lying. Molly brushed down her lab coat and began striding back towards the morgue, nervously planning her words for the confrontation with Tom later that evening.

* * *

><p>"Okay, sweetheart," Tom grinned widely, placing two glasses of wine on the coffee table in front of them; Molly bit her lip at the red contents, having not quite made up her mind regarding her condition. She was distracted by Tom's hand patting her knee, "what's up?"<p>

"Look, I'll just cut to the chase," Molly looked up at her boyfriend, tears in her eyes, "I'm pregnant and…well, since we haven't slept together yet, you understand there is no way-"

"-I'm not…" Tom nodded understandingly, removing his hand from her knee and ruffling his hair; he eyed the glass of wine and swallowed, refusing to betray his emotions, "did you cheat on me?"

"NO, no...of course not! This was before we- um…oh, I'm so sorry, Tom," Molly sobbed, dropping her head into her hands; Tom simply watched her, battling his own demons. He couldn't yet bring himself to stretch his arm forwards and reach for her, "alright, Molly. I can't say I'm happy about this. But, whatever you decide I'll be here for you."

"I-I don't know…I don't know if I want this baby, Tom. I don't…I just-"

"Does he know? The…father?" He asked, still refusing to look at her; after a long pause, Molly shook her head and Tom sighed, looking at his hands, "…then, I think it's only fair you tell him before you decide anything."

"No, I can't…he will be- I don't know how he'll react!"

She panicked at the mere thought of Sherlock Holmes finding out about their baby – responsibility wasn't a word she'd associate with the detective. She scolded herself for the use of 'their' baby - Molly was well and truly on her own in this decision. Tom was frowning as he looked down at her.

"If he's so bad, why did you sleep with him?"

**Because he's good. **Her thoughts seemed to be rebelling, her hormones were already all over the place, she was pale, sick and tired. **Just because Sherlock Holmes is a good shag doesn't mean he's a good parent. **Molly swallowed thickly, wiping her eyes - she didn't want to feel like this anymore. Tom was right, of course, she'd have to tell Sherlock…God, he'd be_ furious_ with her for lying to him in the first place.

Nevertheless, she'll talk to him and tell him she wasn't going through with it.

When she looked up, Tom was gone – apparently making tea, if the clinking of the cups was anything to go by. Great, now _he _hated her. Could she blame him? He'd just discovered his girlfriend is carrying another man's baby. Running a hand through her messy hair, Molly was certain she'd come to a reasonable conclusion when her phone sounded.

_I know you're lying. I deserve the truth, don't I? We need to talk. Baker Street. Immediately. SH_

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><p><em>Tom was a bit blasé<em> _about that, weren't he? I'm sorry this was a shit chapter. Should be better the next one. when I get to it...sorry_


End file.
